


album

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [23]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 20:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: Four side stories:Keith, Lance, and a polaroid.The holidays with Keith, Shiro, Adam, and the Holts.Hunk tries to talk to Lance about his and Keith’s relationship.and, Keith is an introvert.





	album

**Author's Note:**

> V:

The flash blinded Lance momentarily.

He dropped his highlighter. He blinked.

“Oh,” Keith said, lowering his camera. “I should have asked first.”

Lance blinked some more, chasing away the last of the dots from his vision. “Uh,” he said.

“Or warned you, I guess.” Keith tugged the polaroid free and waved it experimentally. He sounded thoughtful, rather than regretful. Like he was talking to himself more than Lance.

“Uh!” Lance said again.

Keith looked at him.

And Lance—because this was apparently his life now—blushed.

Keith went a little pink in return. He waved the polaroid some more.

“You took a picture of me.”

Keith grimaced. “Yes?”

Lance blushed some more.

“Stop that!”

“I can’t help it!”

Keith hunched his shoulders but glanced down at his camera again with a new, thoughtful curve to his lips.

“No!” Lance lunged from his desk chair, reaching for the camera. Keith darted back. “No pictures of me blushing!”

Keith whirled away, holding the camera and polaroid protectively. “Why not?”

“Why not?” Lance sputtered. “ _ Why not _ ?”

Keith glared.

“Take pictures on your phone like a normal person!” Lance dropped back into his chair and reached for his highlighter (probably stolen from Keith but oh well). He uncapped it. He held it poised over his astro textbook. He let it drop again.

“At least put the lid back on it.”

“Shut up!”

Keith shuffled closer again. Red ate her dinner, crunching away.

“I like polaroids,” Keith muttered, sliding the developing picture onto the edge of Lance’s desk.

Lance glanced at it and then looked up at Keith.

“I should have asked.” Keith paused, his mouth doing something twitchy and endearing. Lance’s stomach flipped over. “I’m sorry.”

Lance prodded at the polaroid. It was starting to develop: he could see the shape of his hair, messy from him pulling at it, and his crumpled hoodie. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “Just—tell me first, okay! So I don’t look like—” He broke off and gestured at the polaroid.

“I thought you looked nice.” Keith paused. “I think you look nice.”

He said it so easily.

Lance scratched at the open page of his textbook, feeling the plastic scrape of it under his fingernails. 

“I like pictures,” Keith continued. “I like taking pictures. I’m not very good at it, but—I like it. I like to remember.”

Lance looked back at him and wondered, slowly, if Keith had explained this before. If Keith had boxes of pictures of boys he thought looked nice, of boys he had kissed against walls and on beds. He wondered if it was just him.

Keith blinked at him, waiting.

“Oh,” Lance said, feeling lame.

“Can I keep it?”

“The picture?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Lance squirmed. He cleared his throat. “I don’t mind. The pictures, I mean.”

And Keith, the jerk, smiled at him. Small but bright and disarming.

“I, uh. I like being in pictures.” Lance grimaced. He slapped his hands to his knees. “I like taking pictures, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He carried on: “We should take some pictures. Of us, I mean.”

Keith pulled back. He shook his head. “I don’t like having my picture taken.”

Lance squinted.

Keith shrugged. He snatched the polaroid from Lance’s desk and turned away and Lance maybe—maybe—tackled him.

 

(“I’m going to make this one my lockscreen.”

“Please don’t.”

“My handsome boyfriend’s going to look at me all day.”

“That’s—”

“Why can’t you just smile, huh?”

“I’m uncomfortable!”)

* * *

 

 

Thanksgiving.

“Tell us about him.”

“Please don’t,” Pidge muttered. “I’ve managed to go this long without seeing smitten Keith. Don’t curse my eyes.”

Keith held out a hand.

Pidge slapped rent into his waiting palm, her jaw set defiantly.

“Thank you,” Keith said and Pidge gave him the finger. He smiled.

“Matt,” Shiro whispered. “Matt.” He tapped the edge of the board and made a sweeping, vague gesture.

“No alliances!” Pidge and Keith snapped together.

Shiro huffed and leaned back in his chair. Across the table from Keith, Matt scooped up the dice and clutched them.

“Well, go on!”

“Give me a minute, Pidge,” Matt mumbled.

Pidge scrambled for the waiting timer.

Matt tossed the dice. They clicked against the board.

Colleen continued, tapping her property cards against her chin: “I’d like to know about him.”

“You like to snoop,” Sam said and poured Shiro some more wine.

Shiro squinted at his glass.

“Nothing to tell,” Keith muttered. Matt tapped his piece slowly against the board, like counting each spot would rescue him from his fate. Keith held out his hand again.

Pidge swore.

Matt scrambled to mortgage the properties he had left.

“Give us something, Keith. You never tell us anything.”

Tell them what? Tell them that Lance had blue eyes and snored, sometimes? That Lance liked to stop and stare at rabbits when they gathered on campus? That Lance sometimes crowed back at the magpies and ravens? That, the other day, Lance had gathered a bunch of fallen leaves in his arms and tried to dump then on Keith but then had yelled when a bug crawled up his sleeve? That Lance was an active flirt with his eye on a different girl every week?

“He’s nice,” he managed in a mumble. “He’s—also annoying.”

“The best ones are,” Shiro sighed.

Adam, sitting as neutral banker at the head of the table, dragged his wine glass away. “No more,” he muttered to Sam.

 

***

 

Christmas.

“Are you still seeing that boy?”

That boy, Keith thought. He hunched his shoulders. Pidge was taking her revenge. He thought he’d be bankrupt soon. Maybe he could run away, then.

Shiro nudged him.

“Yes,” Keith said.

Colleen eyed him. “Go on.”

“He’s nice,” Keith muttered at the table.

“He likes strawberries,” Adam blurted, blinking blearily at the table. Keith had convinced him to actually play this time, to everyone’s regret. He had started drinking Shiro’s wine, to Shiro’s regret. “Keith bought him strawberries.”

Keith flushed.

“That’s sweet,” Colleen said with a smile.

Pidge flashed him a toothy grin.

Keith thought about throwing himself in a snowbank.

“Roll,” Shiro said to Adam and Keith loved him just a little.

He thought he could say: Lance was sweet. Lance was sweet and tart like a berry all at once. Lance, who smiled so big sometimes he seemed to light up a whole room. Lance, who lately had pointed that smile at Keith so Keith felt vaguely winded when he was supposed to be sleeping, or studying, or eating. Lance, who Keith realized—suddenly, intensely, viciously—he missed. He missed everything about him. His laughter, his hair, his eyes, the way he rolled out of bed and stumbled about when he was only half-awake. The way he sometimes stuttered if Keith got too close but also the way he held on tight when he wanted Keith to stay.

Adam hooted and dragged what was left of Shiro’s properties and money towards his side of the table. Shiro, to everyone’s surprise and pleasure, swore.

Pidge ruined Keith the next turn and Keith went outside and hopped in the cold and tried and failed to work up the courage to call Lance.

Adam found him facedown in the snow and joined him until Shiro came outside squawked at both of them.

 

***

 

Easter.

Keith’s phone buzzed.

Pidge all but threw herself across the table.

Adam, bless him, rescued Keith’s phone before she could get her hands on it.

“I’m keeping this,” Adam declared. “Lance will survive without you for an hour.”

“But will Keith survive without Lance?” Shiro mused on Keith’s other side.

“This is stupid,” Pidge snapped. She pointed at Keith with more force than Keith thought strictly necessary. “You’ve become stupid!”

Keith glared.

“Look at me! I’m Keith! I walk around making heart eyes at my freaking phone!”

Keith finished his beer.

“Is he nice?” Colleen asked, a little too casually.

“Yes,” Keith replied. “Very nice.”

She considered him while Shiro tapped his piece (the dog, always the dog) across the board. 

Adam slipped him his salary.

“Don’t give him extra!” Pidge yelled.

“I would never,” Adam replied with a sniff. “I’m a neutral party.”

“Nice,” Colleen repeated.

“Yes.”

“Very nice.”

“The nicest.” Keith paused. “Very handsome, too.”

Pidge gagged. Shiro changed the subject before Keith could keep talking.

(But he listened, later, when Keith hunched on the corner of the couch and muttered about Lance’s eyes, his hair, his face, the nervous kisses he gave Keith and the way he doted on their hamster—and Shiro thought it was all very sweet.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s going well?”

Lance tapped his foot. He crossed his arms. He looked at the soup of the day (cream of broccoli—why?) and he looked at the dinner special (chicken fingers—well, fine, sure, why not) and he looked towards the salad bar which was mostly empty so no-one was flocking to it yet. He looked anywhere but at Hunk.

Hunk poked his shoulder. “Hello? Earth to Lance?”

“Yeah!” Lance threw his hands in the air. “It’s fine! Everything’s good! Why do you keep asking?”

Hunk sighed. “Okay,” he said.

Lance crossed his arms again and hunched his shoulders.

Hunk rocked on his feet. Waiting. Taunting Lance.

“It’s just—” Lance broke off with a strangled noise.

“Yeah?”

“It’s just.” He stared at his feet. “You know.”

“No. I don’t know.” Hunk paused. “Which is why I’m asking.” He paused again. “Is it  _ not _ going well?”

“What?”

“Do you guys secretly hate each other? Are you feeling pressured? Do you not know how to break up with him?”

Lance looked at him so quickly something cracked in his neck.

Hunk grimaced. “I babbled.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“But!” Hunk spread his hands and shrugged helplessly. “I’m asking, okay! I care!”

Lance deflated. He let his arms drop to his sides and looked back towards the dinner special again. “Thanks, man,” he sighed. “I think I’m getting chicken fingers.”

“Chicken fingers is not actually food.”

“I’m ignoring you.”

“Fine!” Lance started towards the fry station and Hunk snatched a handful of the back of his shirt. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Lance glanced over his shoulder at him. “I think I did.”

“Lance.”

He jerked out of Hunk’s grip. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Anything?”

“Anything,” Lance echoed in a mutter.

“Anything. Like—” Hunk paused. “Are you happy?”

Lance blinked.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Was he happy? Something flipped over in his stomach, something a little like anxiety, a little like butterflies. He could feel himself starting to blush and he didn’t want Hunk to see that but he was also—stuck. Rooted to the spot. The soles of his sneakers melted to the floor and the smell of chicken fingers and bad soup wafting around him. 

Keith had this funny way of saying “hello” to Lance that made Lance warm all over, prickling and making his insides feel soft and squished. He looked at Lance and he smiled and he said “hello” or “hey” or nothing at all and Lance would just smile back and try to fight down the heat in his cheeks. Keith—Keith looked at Lance like he thought about kissing him, or maybe that was Lance projecting onto Keith because lately all he seemed able to think about was kissing Keith.

Earlier that day, he had zoned out of an entire section of his physics lecture.

Earlier that day, he had sat and thought and daydreamed about kissing Keith on his stupid, handsome face. He had thought about that time (one of those times) Keith had pushed him against their door and kissed him like they were both going to die if he didn’t get his tongue in Lance’s mouth. He had thought about how his knees had turned to jelly and Keith had held him up. He had thought about Keith leaning back and looking at him with his eyes dark and his cheeks a little pink and had said: “Good.”

Good! What did that mean?

Earlier that day, Lance had sat in his physics lecture and thought about turning the damn tables and kissing the life out of Keith and just saying “How about that” to him because the guy needed a taste of his own medicine and, frankly, Lance had a need of his own.

And then—and then!—Lance had started thinking about coming home, about walking through their door and seeing Keith sitting at his desk and Keith would turn around and smile at him and say “hi” or “hello” or nothing at all and Lance would come over and kiss his cheek and his mouth and maybe even the tip of his nose—

And, earlier that day, Eli had snatched Lance’s laptop and written in Lance’s notes: WHAT ARE YOU SMILING ABOUT?

And Lance had tried not die.

“Lance?” Hunk poked his shoulder.

And Lance started sweating.

Hunk poked him again.

“I’m fine,” Lance choked out. “I’m good.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“It’s just! He’s just—” He broke off and thought about pulling on his hair and shoved his hands in his pockets instead. “He thinks he’s so  _ smooth _ and  _ charming _ and—whatever!”

Hunk blinked. “He does?”

“Whatever!”

“Lance—”

“I’m the smooth one! I’m charming! I’m—great!”

Hunk closed his mouth. He huffed a sigh out his nose.

Lance whirled away and stormed towards the fry station. “I’m getting chicken fingers!”

“Right,” Hunk muttered, trailing after him. “Sure.”

 

(Keith showed up a little later.

Lance was busy muttering to himself and shoving food into his mouth and Hunk was busy watching all this unfold and suddenly there was Keith, plopping down into the seat next to Lance and greeting them with a “hello” and a small smile and Lance—

“Don’t mind him,” Hunk muttered, squinting at his twitchy best friend. “He’s having a moment.”

And Lance said “Hi Keith” way too loudly and Keith’s eyes went huge and startled and Lance shrunk, just a little, and Hunk thought about taking a picture.

He wondered if Lance knew how absolutely gone he was for Keith.

He wondered if Lance knew how absolutely gone Keith was for him.

Hunk thought it was all very cute, except when it was just alarming.)

 

* * *

 

 

Lance had knocked his headphones onto his shoulders to stretch with a huff and a grunt when he heard the front door open. He paused. He wiggled his fingers in the air. The song changed and his headphones made soft, storm-like sounds that he didn’t immediately recognize.

He lowered his arms.

“Keith?” Lance called, peering into the darkness of their little hallway.

“Yeah.”

“Welcome home.” Lance pushed away from the table and his books, the chair squeaking against the kitchen floor. He took two and then one stuttered footstep and leaned into the hall, clutching the wall and feeling a little like he was swinging in to spy on Keith as he took off his shoes.

Keith looked up and dropped one of his sneakers. He had turned on the little front light that was more reading lamp than the headlight they really needed—but Lance could see the slumped shape of Keith’s shoulders and the rumpled mess of his hair and the peek of his wrists out of his sweater sleeves. 

“What?” Lance said when neither of them moved.

“Nothing,” Keith replied, a little too quickly. “It’s just—nice.”

“What?”

Keith shrugged and kicked off his other shoe. “Coming home, I guess.” He grunted and foisted his bag back up and onto his shoulder.

Lance blinked. “Well,” he started. “Welcome home!”

And Keith looked at him and smiled and his head tilted just a little and he seemed to simply—settle. “Yeah, that. That’s nice.”

“Lucky for you, I said it twice.”

“Yes,” Keith agreed more seriously than was really necessary.

Lance ducked away, back into the warmth and light of the kitchen, and prodded at the building warmth in his cheeks. The floor creaked in its familiar way as Keith followed after him.

“Want some hot chocolate?” Lance asked over his shoulder, still poking at his cheeks. He grinned. “I’m gonna use real milk.”

“Instead of—fake milk?”

“Instead of water.”

Keith grunted. Lance decided to take that as a “yes, please, Lance, love of my life.”

He listened to Keith settle at the table while he pulled the milk from the fridge and their favourite hot chocolate mix from the shelf. A clumpy thunk as Keith put his bag down on a chair; the squeak of the zipper and the flutter of pages of Keith pulled his books out; the clatter of a handful of highlighters—pens—pencils.

“How was practice?” Lance asked, sniffing the hot chocolate mix. Creamy and sweet.

“Fine.”

Lance paused, listening for the hiss of the saucepan or the stove or the milk as it warmed. He set the package of mix back on the counter and blinked down at the milk and rolled Keith’s quiet “Fine” back and forth over his thoughts.

“Keith,” Lance started, and then Keith was breathing out against his neck and winding his arms around Lance’s waist and pressing so close and so tight that they teetered together for a moment.

They breathed in together, and then out.

“I’m good,” Keith mumbled against Lance’s neck.

Lance leaned back, slow and careful, and Keith caught him with a huff and sigh and they teetered some more.

“Yeah?” Lance said softly, touching one of Keith’s wrists with a light brush of his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Lance considered this. “You sure?”

“Just tired.”

He wasn’t quite sure what he needed to do. Keith sometimes just—withdrew. Settled into their bed with his headphones stuffed in his ears and a book propped open on his knees and the blankets settled around his shoulders—or he’d take a long walk with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head tilted slightly down—or he’d sit on the floor of the top floor of the humanities library with his back against a shelf and his eyes shut.

Lance blinked down at the saucepan of milk. His thoughts ticked to a decision and he set his hand against Keith’s, squeezing once. “Do you want some space?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay.”

“I just—” Another huff of breath against his neck. “I just want you, I guess.”

Lance smiled and reached for the hot chocolate mix again with his free hand. “I guess you got me, then.”

“I guess I do.”

“I’m a very handsome battery pack, just for you.”

Keith laughed and Lance felt his smile, like cool rain, like a kiss, like a breath.

**Author's Note:**

> C: i hope you enjoyed these. thank you very much for reading! i hope to have one more up before s8 drops but if I don’t—see you on the other side. ;;


End file.
